I’m not gay,
so your laugh does not make me smile inwardly.
Secrets
in the curve of your mouth
do not keep me up at night
dreaming with open eyes.

I’m not gay.
When you speak I don’t look.
My hands
shake,
trembling with a need to touch the melody flowing from your lips.
Perfect
Dangerous
Derisive
Lips.

I’m not gay.
The tattoo printed boldly on the back of your neck does not hypnotize me.
It does not mock me.
Sweet circle;
it does not make me force myself to look away
in fear
of how easily
I could just
press open mouthed kisses to it.
Harmony.

I’m not gay.
So my eyes do not linger
on the sliver of skin showing
above your waistband.
Your clothes are too f***ing small
and it bothers me
that I want to touch.
Warm skin.

Goosebumps.

I’m not gay.
Because neither are you.
You are more complex than male or female
than yin or yang
than evil and good.
You are genderless.
Just a soul.
One spirit.
One mind
confined to a body that hinders.
You should fly.

I
Am
Not
Gay.

I
Am
Wrapped
Up
In
Trouble.